The House at the End of Time
by Lunexa
Summary: Set mid season 12. With everything relatively calm at the moment, Mary asks Dean to go on a hunt with her for some bonding time, but what they find in this trip, isn't too pretty.
1. The beginning

**Hey, I know I haven't written in a while, but here's an idea I've been screwing around with, so hear ya go. Its set mid season 12**

" _There's bad in you"_

He picked up the blade tenderly, his fingers carefully grasping the hilt. There was no hesitation, no second thoughts as he slowly crossed the room to the woman cowering in the corner. His wide stance and glinting eyes seemed to suck the air out of her lungs.

"It's okay, shh" He drawled out, mock concern etching his features. He caressed the woman's face, fresh tears dripping down, hot and salty. He pulled his hand back, licking the moisture from his fingers with a smile.

"You're a-a a monster" She spat out, her words stumbling in her suddenly dry mouth. He only smiled again, a cocky grin stretching his face almost unnaturally.

"Darling, you don't even know the half of it" He replied, his blade swinging upward and marking its target, spraying an arc of blood in the air. He sighed, cracked his neck and turned around, only to be found face first with a mirror.

He stumbled back, momentarily stunned by his reflection; his face dotted with warm blood, his freckles hiding beneath crimson. He wiped his face roughly, looking back up to find his eyes jet black, bottomless, staring at him accusingly.

" _And this, this is what you're gonna become!"_

Dean woke up, a strangled scream escaping his chapped lips. His eyes darted wildly around his room, his sweat-soaked sheets bunched up in his fists. For a minute, all he could hear was the sound of his pounding heart and ragged breaths.

"Fuck me" the hunter muttered, collapsing back onto the bed, his hands going through his spiked hair and gripping it tight.

He absentmindedly hoped Sam wouldn't come running into his room, gun cocked and loaded. Dean swung his legs off the bed, the sleep long gone from his eyes. With a sigh, he padded lightly out of his room, his long legs carrying him to the kitchen and straight to the liquor cabinet.

He knew in the morning Sam would be pissed to find him curled up in the armchair with a bottle of jack, but he couldn't have cared less at the moment. He heaved himself into said armchair, the cap of the bottle forgotten in the kitchen. The fiery liquid coursed through his sore throat, and dropped comfortably into his stomach.

He should have been better by now, his mom was back, Cas was with them, and Sam didn't seem to be in any potential danger. Sure, the spawn of Satan was about to pop out and make a show, but he wasn't alone to deal with it.

Dean screwed his eyes shut, taking another forceful swig of whiskey, his thoughts clouded with hate and booze.

" _Once you touch that darkness, it never goes away"_

He grimaced at his own words, replayed them in his head, and on instinct went to scratch the Mark, only to find unmarred skin. He sometimes forgot, which made him wonder how much of that demon was truly him, or just the Mark.

With the silence enveloping his senses, and filling his head with dark thoughts, he went to grab his phone, put something on, anything. Dean momentarily paused as he picked the phone up, an unread message from his mom waiting for him.

A ghost of a smile twitched on his lips, aware that it was still crazy how his mom was even alive, much less texting of all things. He was still sore from her siding with the British Men of Letters, and Sam following her, but the best he could do for now was to sit back and observe for any suspicious behavior from the foreigners.

He put the bottle down, which had still been gripped in his hand, and unlocked his phone, reading the message:

 _-Hey, Dean, Mick wants me to check out a case up in Nebraska, somewhere near Lincoln, and I'll need some backup, call me if you're interested._

There was a silent plea hidden in the message, a sort of reconciliation that she seemed to want to do on her part. Dean furrowed his eyebrows, unsure to take the case without his brother by his side.

He saw the time was 5:26 in the morning, but he pressed the dial number anyway, inferred, that like him, Mary was a light sleeper. On the first ring, a surprisingly groggy voice murmured a 'hello?'.

"Shit, sorry, Mom, I'll- "

"No, no, its fine, I was about to be up anyway" Mary hastily assured, clearing her throat from the sleep.

Dean arched his eye at the dubious lie, but went on anyway, "I just saw the message, what's up?"

"Just the usual haunted house, couple of kids have been going missing in the area, all of them disappearing near the vicinity of the property."

"Seems like a simple salt n' burn from the sounds of it, why do you need me?" He asked cautiously, wanted his mother to say the truth.

Mary faltered for a second, before she gave a dry chuckle, "Well, it's a big house, and…I-I thought we could have some time together, some one-on-one"

Dean felt his throat close up with emotion, and he had to swallow hard before answering, "Really?"

It was a simple, hesitant question, no malice behind it, and Mary had to blink the tears out before she could speak, "Yeah, I wanna know about you guys, I want you to tell me about Sammy's first steps, and your first dance, and- "Her voice seemed to choke up but before she could continue, a croaky 'okay' was heard from the line.

Dean hated being this raw and open, but lately, every time he was with his mother, something deep would open up inside of him, a side of Dean that had been stowed away since he was 4.

"Okay, well, I'll send you the details and the address through text and meet you tomorrow?" She didn't mean to impose it as a question, but the fear of rejection from the boys that grew up without her was there, loud and clear.

"Yeah, it'll just take me 3 hours' tops, and I'll see you there" An assurance voiced subtly, before the phone call ended. Dean stared at his phone, frozen in thought. Without another word, he went to the kitchen, screwed the cap back on the bottle and headed for bed. After all, he had work in the morning.

 **Reviews?**


	2. Mysterious circumstances

**Hopefully you guys like this next chapter, it's a bit awkward, as I imagine this type of relationship would be under these circumstances. Anyway, enjoy!**

Dean strummed in tune as 'Back in Black' roared through the cassette tape. Even now, with all the new doohickeys, he refused to jack up his baby and ruin her simplicity to her. Dean liked to preserve the old things, save them from their fate of misuse and eventual abandonment.

The hunter hoped his brother would be fine in the bunker alone for the weekend, but he could already imagine Sam lounging with a book and a cup of coffee. The thought made Dean smile, recalling the conversation he had with him early this morning;

 _"Hey, I'm heading out, mom needs some help with a hunt over in Nebraska" Dean said groggily, entering the kitchen and making a beeline for the coffee pot._

 _Sam raised his eyebrows at him from his hunched position at the table, a cup of coffee already cradled in his large hands. "You need me to come along?" It was two questions in one, a subtle helping hand._

 _"Nah, I think mom needs this" The unspoken 'I need this too' was heeded by Sam and he followed up his question with the usual, "Well, call me when you get there, and don't forget to keep me updated"_

 _"I wont, Sam" Dean chuckled, a happy smirk gracing his lips, "Anyways, I'm off" He shouldered his duffel bag and strolled out, playfully giving his brother the finger as he heard him shout, "Don't have a Dr. Phil moment during the hunt or anything!"_

He smiled fondly, his heart seizing with a painful love for the only person who was ever truly there for him for almost all his life.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Dean slowed down as he saw the sleazy motel in sight, parking the hunk of beauty and sliding out of the seat.

The air was fresh, a tinge of cold carried with the wind. The fallen leaves rattled on the parking lot and Dean closed his eyes, let the sound calm him.

"Hey" Mary's timid voice had Dean opening his eyes and he smiled as his mom walked up to him. She didn't seem to know whether to hug him or just greet him, but Dean made the decision in three long strides and enveloped her in a hug.

She was taken back, but seemed to melt into the hug. Dean awkwardly stepped back, a sheepish grin taking place. Mary smiled, took in her son's broad shoulders, tense yet relaxed stance, and his eyes bright with hope.

"C'mon, I got lunch" She stated, taking the lead and going into her room. As Dean entered, he noticed it was a two bed hotel room, and his chest filled with joy, realizing just how hard his mom was trying to connect with him. It was painful, but at the same time healing, after all these years.

The smell of burgers had the hunter instantly sitting down and digging into the greasy paper bag. Mary smirked, all of a sudden reminded by her husband's eating antics.

"So, what you got so far?" Dean asked, his mouth currently working its way through the burger with a vengeance.

"Well, the house was originally an orphanage built in the 1960's to welcome children refugees from the whole Vietnamese relocation program. Fast-forward to around 15 years later when it burned down under mysterious circumstances." Mary replied, her papers splayed neatly onto the table, "No evidence of arson but over 100 kids and staff died in the fire." Her eyes flickered, for a moment almost forgetting that she too died in a fire that consumed her house, and her son's childhoods.

Dean cleared his throat, obviously noting the certain tremor in Mary's voice at the mention of fire. She quickly looked up and continued, emotions set aside, "The building was renovated into a mansion by a wealthy couple a couple of years later, but get this, not one week after moving in, the wife kills herself, takes a swan dive off the roof. A month later, the husband ends up dousing himself in gasoline and lighting up a match. He survived and when medical staff asked him why he did it, he told them the classic, 'the children made me do it'."

"Hmm" Dean hummed, soaking in all the information, "The husband still alive?"

"Yeah, he's in a psychiatric ward for the elderly, 20 minutes away from here" Mary replied, her eyes skimming the papers.

"So what started the sudden disappearances?" Dean asked, making a mental note to interview the unfortunate man.

"The house is abandoned, and city hall was looking to bulldoze the place and make more homes. Ever since the demolition crew started setting up, there's been the usual flickering lights, cold spots, and one of the machines even set on fire randomly." She replied.

"And the missing kids?" He followed up on the question, knew in this line of work, the more you knew the better.

"That's where it gets strange. Kids around the area have been disappearing, so far only five, but in these police reports, the parents all say the same thing"

"Which is?"

"'The children took them to the house at the end of time'. The police of course cant make heads or tails of it, but this looks like a nasty poltergeist" Mary concluded, her face scrunched up in a grimace.

"We'll have to dig a bit deeper and see if there's anything specific that's tying the ghosts to the house, unless we do the city hall a favor and salt n' burn the whole thing" Dean suggested sardonically.

"Mm, no, we don't know where the missing kids are, they could still be alive. It'd be best to scout out the place soon" Mary pointed out.

Dean nodded in agreement, looking up to see his mom squinting at the papers intensely, her eyes roving for missing clues. He had the sudden sensation of being a kid again, helping his dad get ready for a hunt.

He absentmindedly chuckled out loud, "This reminds me when dad would get a new case, he'd spend hours pouring over the evidence, he'd even let me help him with research and everything"

Mary's eyebrows furrowed, and she heatedly shot out, "John shouldn't have been hunting, much less involving you"

Dean's surprised look had her stumbling for the right words, "I never wanted you boys to live this life"

Dean's calloused hand enveloped Mary's, "You can't change the past, but we sure as hell can make a better future for ourselves" He wasn't much for comforting words, but the watery smile his mom gave him had him gripping her hand tightly.

 **Reviews?**


	3. Marceline

**I have been without wifi for the past few weeks, and am sorry about the delay, but here it is, enjoy!**

The impala rumbled, purring as Dean notched the speed up. The car was silent, a tense atmosphere pervading the air. They had agreed to interview the unfortunate victim first thing next morning, and while Dean had been nervous to have a nightmare with his mom in the same room, he thankfully slept like a baby for the first time in weeks.

The acrid taste of burnt coffee lingered in Dean's mouth and he grimaced in distaste. He was nervous, working a case with his mother was something he had never pictured to be doing, and yet here he was, speeding to a nut house to see some pyromaniac. He sighed, man his life was fucked up.

"His name's Frederick Simmons, been admitted to the looney bin since his fire stunt." Mary stated, once again looking through her papers of research.

"You think he'll have anything worth mentioning other than the classic 'haunted house' dilemma?" He asked, catching sight of the white building up ahead; St. Mary's home for the troubled. Iconic.

"What do you mean? This just seems like another poltergeist" Mary replied, her eyes watching the scenery slow down as they approached the hospital.

"Every haunting has a story, and the stories are the key to solving the case. At least, that's what Dad always said" Dean shrugged, parking the Chevy and sliding out. Mary blinked, surprised at just how keen John had taken the hunting business.

They strolled in, alias already planned. "We're reporters, doing a piece on the history of Lincoln. We'd like to talk with Mr. Simmons about his stay at the infamous mansion." Dean lied, flashing his pearly whites at the young receptionist.

The young woman flustered for a second before responding, "Mr. Simmons is a very easily upset man, I don't think that would be prudent"

Dean leaned over, his elbows propped casually on the counter as he replied, "It'll only take a second of his time, I promise" The sudden nearness to the handsome man had the woman giving them the number to his room.

"Did John also teach you that?" Mary asked with humor as they walked up a flight of stairs. Dean looked at her surprised before throwing his head back and barking out a laugh, "That man couldn't sweet talk a rock. He was always impatient, gruff, and awkward at the best of times."

Mary chuckled, "Not surprising, he looked like a fish out of water the first time he tried talking to me"

The thought of his dad, young and in love, had Dean smiling painfully. The ex-marine had been a hard man, but from the looks of it, had loved Mary to his very core.

Dean straightened his jacket, and knocked on the door to Simmons room, a meek 'enter' responding through the door. The room was small, sparse of much furniture except for a bed, a closet and a desk. The window looked down into a small garden, filling the room with sunlight.

Frederick Simmons was 62 by now, hunched over in a wheel chair. His face and 85% percent of his body were covered in burns, giving him the look of a wannabe elder in 'Nightmare on Elm street'. He looked up, his eyes hooded by horrible burn scars. "You came about the house" It was more a statement than a question, and Mary nodded slowly, sitting in a chair next to the man, "We want to know more about the interior and its history" She said, keeping up the story.

The man looked at her and laughed, "You want to know what's in it. I know that look anywhere. People have been here before, bothering me for the same stuff. All I can tell you is that the house is alive through the children. They won't let go until someone has brought the light onto the killer"

"The killer? The house caught on fire, didn't it?" Dean asked, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.

The old man laughed again, "You might want to ask them yourself. They have a different story to tell you." Dean's eye twitched, he was getting nervous just being around the deranged man.

"We have to go to the house then?" He asked. At that, the elder looked up sharply, assessed Dean with weary eyes, "You won't make it. There's too much pain in both of you. The children can sense it; they know the right buttons to push"

Mary steered the topic into a different question as she saw Dean getting antsy at the old man, "Do you know why they would take the children? Do you think they're still alive?"

"They work in mysterious ways; they want to get noticed. The missing children are just bait for Marceline" The man whispered, his shaky hands grasping at Mary's, "Who's Marceline?" Mary implored softly.

The man seemed to be in a trance, his eyes as wide as saucers, "She'll kill you both". The statement laid a profound silence in the room before he whispered again, "Please leave town, don't come back"

Mary and Dean walked out in silence, both mulling over the new information. As they climbed back into the car, Dean stated, "Guess now we know something bigger is at work here. I'll call Sam, he might know what we're dealing with"

"I think we need to go to the house tonight. This is obviously the work of some vengeful spirit that isn't gonna stop. And if those kids are still alive, we need to get them out" Mary stated determined.

Dean chewed the inside of his lip, "If we do that, were practically running in blind"

"We're hunters, this is what we do, we save people, and if those kids are alive, then I'm getting them out as soon as I can"

The hunter sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, finally conceding, "Fine, we go tonight"

 **Reviews?**


	4. The Righteous Man

**Trigger warning, so like be careful. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter, and I'll try to post the next one soon.**

The house consisted of tall white columns, slim windows lined up and down, and a great set of mahogany doors situated straight in the middle. Ivy had begun to spiral in and out of the broken windows, practically consuming a whole corner of the once white, now grey house.

The air was heavy, cold with foreboding and Dean shivered as he pulled up onto the gravely driveway. His mother had a determined face, ready to save the children, but Dean felt something in his gut twisting horribly, anxiety settling in.

The house gave off a strange vibe, and Dean had to swallow the hard-lump forming in his throat. Something wasn't right.

The duo clambered out, ransacking the trunk for the usual shotguns and salt rounds.

"You ready?" Mary asked, gripping the shotgun tightly

"Let's roll" Dean replied, his face a calm façade as his mind told him not to enter, told him this was wrong. His mom looked calm and controlled, and for some reason, it peeved Dean off that she didn't seem to notice the wrongness of the situation.

Suddenly, he was bitter, the taste filling his mouth. He shouldn't be hunting with his mother, they should have gone out, had a coffee like normal people and talked about what she'd missed. Why the hell were they here?

The thought almost had him reeling, grabbing his mother and shoving her in the car, getting out of this godforsaken sinkhole of a house.

But he willed himself to breathe calmly, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He needed to man up, Dean had faced worse, he could do a simple salt n' burn with his mother.

Mary climbed the steps, two at a time, unaware of her son's nervousness. Her mind was filled with the thought of parents waiting for their children to come back home, and while she didn't see her own boys grow up, she sure as hell wasn't gonna let others go through that ordeal.

Without a second thought, she went on to picking the rusty lock when an icy wind enveloped both hunters. She took a step back out of instinct as the lock seemingly broke, and the doors swung wide open on their own accord.

"I didn't know we were at a Hilton Hotel" Dean joked dryly, his eyes darting around, taking in the great hall. A large marble staircase slid sleekly to the side, a grand, gold plated chandelier hung in the middle, and overall, the place was filled with antique French couches, and small but tasteful (and don't forget expensive) décor.

Mary whistled lowly as she took in the lavish place, "Ghost or no ghost, this place has style"

They stepped inside carefully, and before Dean even knew it, the mysterious wind had picked up again and slammed the doors shut, leaving them in darkness.

For a full five seconds, Dean couldn't breathe, the darkness was almost suffocating, dragging him down to some deep pit. A bright light glared in his face and he swatted away his mother's flashlight, "You good?" She asked, noticing his shaky breath.

"Yeah, fine" He replied curtly, slapping himself mentally for having forgotten a flashlight of his own. Mary pursed her lips, then turned around, "C'mon, I have a map of the interior of the house, but since we have no real clue as to where the kids are being kept, we'll have to check each room"

"Awesome" Dean breathed out, straightening himself up and following his mother. For a split second, he almost thought his dad was in front of him, leading the way like he always did on hunts. The thought made him shudder, just now realizing that the sweet Mary he had built up in his mind all these years, may not have been her true image.

Their footsteps echoed loudly in the big hall, a rhythm following them down a corridor and into the first door. Inside was a large office, with walls lined up with bookshelves, and a large, intimidating desk in the middle.

The office was overall big, but useless, seeing as the books had been collecting dust for years now, the desktop empty of any sign of a prior living habitant.

" _Dean"_

He jerked his head around, eyes looking wildly for whoever had said his name. He looked at Mary apprehensively, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" She mumbled, distracted as she pilfered through drawers for anything useful. Dean willed himself to calm down, marked it down to his goddamn nerves.

" _Dean"_

He snarled, whirling around the room to find his tormenter. "Dean?" Mary looked alarmed, her quest to find clues forgotten as she saw Dean take ragged breaths, his hands fisting up, ready to fight. She reached out hesitantly to coax him, as if she was approaching a wild animal.

Mary faltered as the room around them seem to melt away, literally. The walls melted, colors swirling together, and for a moment, the duo were surrounded by a cacophony of colors mixing together.

The room reshaped itself into a great expanse of dark red colors, chains hanging from an invisible ceiling. Dean's world stopped, his heart thundering fast and hard as he remembered all too well the scene before him.

Mary's gasp had him gripping her shoulders tightly, whispering over and over, "Don't look, mom, please, don't look" Her eyes were wide as saucers, and before he could stop it, she ripped herself from his gasp, stepping over to see the horror show.

Hell.

The same as it had been, and would be for eternity. But from the moment Dean laid eyes on a materializing Alistair crouched next to a huddled, trembling form, he knew where he was, knew the scene that would unfold as it had unfolded years ago.

"C'mon, Dean-o, you and I both know how easy this could be, if you just said yes" And with a yank, Alistair had Dean's burned hair scrunched in his hand, nose to nose with an equally burned Dean, unrecognizable had it not been for the green eyes glistening widely at his torturer.

Dean looked at the scene in horror, seeing his mother draw in a shuddering sob at what was happening right before her eyes.

The tortured Dean looked blankly into nothing and murmured something low and raspy. "What was that, Dean-o? I couldn't hear you" Alistair taunted, his face stretching into an unnatural grin.

"Yes" He whispered again, and just like that, the room they were in dissolved, simmering into different colors. They reemerged in a room similar to the one they had been in, but instead of Dean at the mercy of a demon, he stood straight with a cocky grin plastered on his face.

There, on the meat chains, was a young, 20-year-old man. His face glistened with tear tracks, and he blubbered on, "Please, I don't d-deserve this, t-this has to be a n-nightmare, I-I-I can't do this anymore, p-p-please have mercy"

"Mercy?" The torturer asked, his green eyes glinting in the fiery glow of their surroundings, "Sorry, buddy, that's not on the schedule today" And with a definitive smirk, he yanked the man's tongue out, promptly slicing it off, "I'm not much for words right now, why don't you just scream?" He asked darkly.

Dean felt lightheaded, watching his old-self slice up the man, his nauseous stomach rebelling. The colors disintegrated once again, faster this time, a new scene appearing every few seconds, but each with different souls. One body after another on the rack, being carved in by Dean Winchester.

Soul after soul flashing through his eyes, a scream bubbling to his lips, "STOP!"

 **Reviews?**


End file.
